Page 5 of Break Me
Or worse.
“What happened? Come on. You’re like a fuse ready to explode.”
“You’re goddamn right I am,” I barked. He flanked my side as we headed to the hotel where I had an office.
“Does this have anything to do with your meeting with Petros Papadakis?”
“You mean the windows, no. My bad mood? Part of the reason.” After pressing my fingertips against the keypad and the light turning green, I flung open the door, storming inside. “Papadakis is a dead man.”
Kazimir sucked in his breath because he knew I never openly threatened anyone’s life, especially inside one of our hotels. I wasn’t considered a big, bad Bratva dude like my brothers or cousins and that was fine by me. I hadn’t grown up in Moscow. I hadn’t been forced to leave everything I knew behind and move halfway across the world.
I was American through and through.
Only I was born of tainted Russian blood.
I adored my family. We were tight. We were powerful. We were fucking rich. But there was no leaving our Bratva traditions behind. It didn’t matter we were almost completely legitimate in our business operations or that we’d garnered the respect of people around the world.
There was no way of completely hiding behind iron-clad contracts written by the attorneys we had on staff. There was no sugarcoating the fact my father and uncle had made several dangerous enemies. Hell, we’d recently discovered we had another uncle still living in Moscow who wanted his own brothers and their families exterminated.
And they’d tried.
Maybe that’s why Papadakis’ pushback and his bullshit rhetoric had irritated the hell out of me.
Kazimir waited until we were inside the elevator before grilling me. “What exactly did the Greek asshole do?”
“Increased the prices of our supplies by three hundred percent.”
My brother coughed. “What in God’s name was the reason he gave you?”
“You’re assuming he gave me one. I had to threaten to beat it out of him before he smiled coyly and spouted off because we were Bratva bastards who could afford whatever he wanted to charge.”
Huffing, Kazimir rubbed his jaw. “Oh, I only imagine how that will go over with the Pakhan. You might be right and he’ll come out of his new fatherhood haze and make good on your premonition.”
Our older brother, Mikhail had taken over the helm of the Dmitriyev Bratva only a few years before. A position he was highly qualified for. His break in methodology from our father had been put to the test over the years in dealing with several former enemies.
I’d always told myself I had no desire to mirror my father and his actions, but after today’s meeting and my reaction to Papadakis, I was beginning to believe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
“I’m going to have a conversation with Petros’ brother, who technically owns Performance Food Service.”
He laughed and clapped me on the back as the elevator doors opened. “Good to see you’re working through your aggressions. Was Papadakis responsible for smashing your windows?”
I threw him a sideways glance as we walked down the hallway toward the executive offices. Right now, I needed a goddamn drink. “No. That was done by the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes on and the biggest pain in my ass.”
“Wow. You leave for a meeting and you come back with another woman in this city hating your guts. I give her credit for going to the extreme of smashing the glass. Isn’t there a Carrie Underwood song about some cheating ex?”
“Ha ha.” I jerked out my keys, grousing under my breath. “Get this. She’s a fucking firefighter. No, she’s the goddamn captain of the fire station. Can you fucking believe that?”
I pitched open the door with enough force it slammed against the wall even though there was a doorstopper near the baseboard.
Immediately, I headed to the bar in my office, my thoughts shifting away from Papadakis and his ridiculous decision to the woman who’d gotten so deeply under my skin, I could feel her tickling my intestines.
“Does that mean you parked in front of a fire hydrant?”
“Yes, so what?”
“Let me think. Did you happen to catch the news about the huge fire on Commerce Street earlier today?”
Snorting, I grabbed a glass and my favorite bottle of Macallan scotch, pouring a hefty amount. “Yeah, so what?” I repeated.
